The Comte's Death
by Whisper of the Winds
Summary: What if Raoul blamed Christine for Philippe's death and refused to marry her? EC Completely book based. No refferences to any of the plays or movies. Please R&R! Chapter 2's up!
1. Chapter 1

Pain. It seemed almost palpable. The air itself seemed to be weighted with pure, heart-wrenching agony. I sat at my organ, trying vainly to hide my tears. I had never known such grief, not even when my mother had thrown my mask at me when I'd dared to approach her without it. I hadn't been hurt this badly even when she, who was supposed to love me unconditionally, drummed the lesson of her repulsion and hatred into my small, childish brain. No, she couldn't possibly have caused me this much pain. I wanted to die. I wanted that blessed release almost as badly as I wanted Christine. Almost. Alas, I had not a lasso within reach and I lacked the energy and ambition to get up. Pathetic, no? The tyrant of the Opera House too love-sick to do anything but weep in front of his organ. There was one way to end my life, and it was a short walk away. I could very easily kill myself in the torture chamber, but I'd sworn never to set foot in that damnable room. You see, the whole thing is composed of mirrors. The walls are six giant mirrors and those are what create the illusions. I couldn't enter the room because mirrors were my most hated foe. I could manipulate them to show me all manner of things, but no matter what they would never lie. When I looked into them there would always be a demon staring back at me. Looking at my reflection caused me real, physical pain and more grief was the last thing I needed now.

I was jarred from my thoughts of suicide by a voice calling my name. Despite the agony blunting my senses, I was able to recognize who it was. Oh! Nadir! What could you possibly want from me now!

Somehow I forced myself to my feet and managed to drag myself over to the torture chamber. _Damn him! Why couldn't he have found some other way in?_ I contemplated leaving him there, letting him suffer from the heat and illusions conjured by the room. Alas, his cries of "Erik!" irked me far too much to ignore them. Before I opened the door to let him out, I tried to compose myself and stop my tears. Unfortunately, these efforts were in vain, and I opened the door revealing the pitiful excuse for a man I was at the time. "For pity's sake, Daroga! What could you possibly want now?" I was appalled by the sound of my meek, grief-stricken voice.

"Erik…"

I snapped angrily, "I don't need your pity!" I turned away from the Persian. I decided I was unhappy enough without the damn man coming to bother me. He honestly had no clue how close to strangling him I came when I felt his hand on my shoulder. In fact, he seemed surprised when I pulled away, wishing I'd at least broken his arm. Even in my current state I was capable of _that. _

"Letting her go was the right thing to do, Erik." Oh! If I had my lasso he'd have been a dead man! Didn't he know enough to keep quiet about Christine? She was the last person I wanted to hear about right now. I couldn't even bear to think of her, living happily with Raoul, striving to forget me, the monster who'd kidnapped her, never once remembering that at one point I'd been an Angel to her, and that I shaped her voice to its current angelic purity.

"Right for who?" I spat. "She could have been happy with me if she'd bothered to give me a chance!" Out raged grief burned in my chest, causing a dull throbbing ache. Adding to that ache was the ever present sensation of wounded pride. Nadir had barged into my home when I was in the most pathetic, pitiful state I'd experienced in my life and he was only making it worse.

"Erik—"

I cut him off, unable to control my sudden fit of rage. "Now listen to me, you opinionated Persian idiot, I don't need one of your pointless lectures on morals and the like or your pity! I owe you nothing and I don't intend on letting you come into my home and insult me whenever you feel the need. Now leave!" Harsh? Yes, even I admit I was a bit hard on him, but I was hardly rational at the time. And was I supposed to allow him to barge into _my_ house, insult me, and lecture me even now? What I wanted was to grieve in peace, and hopefully die in the near future.

"I saved your life, Erik," he answered softly. I could tell my out-burst had offended, and probably hurt, him. But at the moment that didn't seem to matter. The sad thing was that I no longer cared for anything, not even my music.

"And who's to say that it wouldn't have been kinder to deliver me for execution? Who's to say I wouldn't be better off dead?" I retorted, though I wasn't half as hostile as I'd been moments before. I was vaguely irritated by that obnoxious look of pity on Nadir's face. I was quite sure he knew I was right. He _hadn't_ done me any favors, merely prolonged my suffering. Not only that, but he was a miserable traitor of a friend. It was he who led the rotten boy down to my lair in the first place.

"Erik! That's not true. You've helped more people than you know!"

That was enough. I no longer needed to be entertained by fairy tales and, rather than appeasing me, they only angered me and made me wish for death even more. I launched myself at him. Oh! How _wonderful_ it felt to have his throat in my hands! It almost made me think twice about my wish for death. Not quite, but nearly. But as he gasped for air despite my strangling grip and wheezed reminders of my promise to him, I released him. I had not, however, rid myself of my murderous intentions. I spat, "Damn it! Haven't you learned not to make me angry?"

He seemed almost arrogant as he shrugged it off. I knew I should have killed him when he remarked casually, "In your current state I think just breathing would agitate you." I noted with a smug satisfaction that he was rubbing his bruised neck. I couldn't help but smirk; he wouldn't forget me any time soon!

"Do you _enjoy_ not being able to breathe, Nadir? Unless you do, it would be beneficial for you to keep quite," I snapped. It would be laughably easy to kill him down here. We were far enough below ground where no one would hear his cries for help and I, personally, would have no qualms about doing away with him. I nearly laughed aloud at the prospect of his throat once again finding its way into my hands. Hilariously funny, was it not? Perhaps he did have some use after all! He was the only one who could distract me from my suicidal thoughts with such concepts.

Oh! God! When one's entertained by the concept of killing his only friend he knows that he's of questionable sanity! I could tell Nadir was thinking the exact same thing from the odd, vaguely frightened expression on his face. The only difference was that he cared. I didn't. This was the mental state which Christine had left me in, suicidal—slightly homicidal—and drifting even further into the black voids of insanity. Dear God! Me? _More_ insane? That was a truly terrifying thought! Yet, somehow, this, too, amused me. Again, I found myself drawn away from my hopes for death. So perhaps I wouldn't benefit from killing my Persian friend. But I _did_ want him gone and out of my house.

"Get out," I sighed wearily. "I don't want you here. I don't want anyone here."

"I don't trust you enough to leave you here alone."

"Once again I ask, do you enjoy it when I choke the life out of you?" I snarled. I was seriously beginning to regret my decision to let him live. Why couldn't he have been kind enough to stay in Persia? Then, by now, he would have fallen from royal favor. Once he had, assuming I had a bit of luck for a change, the Shah would have found a suitable means of execution by now. People who fall from favor in Persia typically don't live very long afterwards. "Would've saved me a world of trouble," I grumbled.

"Do you promise not to kill yourself if I leave, Erik?"

"Why wouldn't I? Hell will be a welcome relief from this! Nadir, I've already lived far too long. Ending my wretched existence would be doing me a favor."

"Surely—"

"What? Are you under the illusion that I somehow _value_ my life? My death would be a mercy to me and anyone else I've ever met. Besides, Christine's expecting me to die. I told her I would and I would be loath to break that promise." I grew quite bitter as I went on with the last sentences. When Christine had left, I told her I would die, and I was sure that I would. I'd even told her where to find my body and where to bury me once I had died. I must die because it was what Christine was expecting, and probably she wanted as well. _Yes, _I thought bitterly,_ I'll bet she can't wait for the monster to die! And until he does she'll be in that wretched boy's arms, probably begging him to comfort her after her terrible ordeal!_ I discovered that, along with becoming increasingly insane, I was becoming more and more cynical with each moment that passed without Christine.

"Now, Erik, I know for a fact that isn't true! Did t ever occur to you that _I_ may you?"

At that I bust out laughing. "You? It was my fault that you were arrested in Persia! How many times have you nearly died trying to get into my house? And now I've tried to kill you and you say you'll _miss_ me? And I thought _I_ was insane!" This conversation with Nadir was growing tiresome. If he honestly thought I was stupid enough to believe him, I'd throw him bodily out of my house and accuse him of being an imposter. Surely, after all the time we'd spent together, he'd know better than to question my intelligence! Again, I found it wonderfully amusing to imagine myself strangling him. As I did, I began to wonder which level of Hell I'd go to. I suppose the seventh ring would suit me, in the outer part where suicides spent eternity. Though, contemplating what I'd read in Dante's work, I figured I'd committed every sin one would go to Hell for with the exception of gluttony. I would fit in very well in any level other than level three.

I was jarred from my thoughts by my increasingly irritating companion. He once again began one of his attempts to dissuade me from killing myself. "Listen to yourself, Erik! This _isn't_ the end of the world! What of your music? What of the opera house?"

"They don't matter. None of it matters anymore. Don't you see, Daroga? I have everything I had to _her_! I gave _her_ all my music, all my passion, and everything else I've ever held dear. I even gave her my heart, the vile, useless thing that it is. Without her I'm better off dead," I snapped irritably. Damn him! Why couldn't he leave me to die in peace? Oh! How I _hated _him!

"Erik!"

I whipped around, probably more out of an old reflex than anything else. Slowly I shook my head and mumbled, "I must be going mad…"

The comment was greeted with a slap on the back and an obnoxiously snide remark from Nadir, "Oh, my dear Erik, it's far too late for you to be going mad! You're already there!"

I turned and snarled, "If you don't—"

"Erik!" There it was again. If I didn't know any better I would say I'd just heard Christine calling my name! But that wasn't possible! She left to have her happy ending with her arrogant, obnoxious little Prince Charming. There was no way she'd give him up for an aging carcass! Was there?

I stared out into the lake in confusion. I really was going insane! I saw my gondola moving towards the shore, with something in a white dress perched on top of it. By the time it reached the shore, I was certain the white figure inside must be Christine. I spent several moments puzzling over whether or not this was some sort of illusion before she ran over to me, flinging her arms around my neck and sobbing into my chest.

"Christine?" I asked, hardly daring to hope that she had, indeed, returned. I couldn't hear her muffled response, but looking at the delicate creature in my arms, there could be no doubt that this was, in fact Christine. Once I'd established this fact, the panic set in. "Christine, what happened? Are you hurt? Did he harm you?" As I questioned her, I cast a helpless glance at Nadir, entirely unsure of what to do. I wanted to ask why she hadn't already left with Raoul, but I couldn't even bear to speak the name.

Through her sobs Christine gasped, "I'm sorry Erik! I never should have left you! It was all a huge mistake! Please forgive me!" She began to cry even harder and begged pitifully, "Please say you forgive me Erik! I know I don't deserve it, but please forgive me!"

I blinked, growing terribly confused. Despite my almost inhuman hearing, I scarcely heard Nadir hissing at me to comfort her. I disentangled myself from her, leading her to the bed in her room. It felt decidedly odd to have her once again clinging to me and sobbing on my shoulder. Very timidly, I stroked her soft, blonde hair, wincing as she continued to beseech me for forgiveness. If it wouldn't be sacrilege to touch her, I would have done something more comforting, but it was blasphemous enough of me to even do something so mundane as to stroke her hair, or even allow her to continue crying on my shoulder. If I could have invited physical contact, I would have lifted her face so she could look at me when I sighed, "Hush, Child. There's nothing to forgive." I wanted to continue to assure her that there was no need to apologize, but I couldn't think of how to do it without mentioning the boy, and, without knowing what happened, I would probably say something immensely stupid. Of course, to say I didn't hate Christine for leaving me would have been a terrible lie, but I had gotten past that hatred. I could never stay angry with her for more than an hour or two, and now I was more worried than anything else. "Christine, Angel, please tell me what happened," I asked softly.

She became more hysterical before she managed to sob, "He left me!"

"_What?_" I could've sworn she just told me the Viscount left her. Surely that would never happen! Hadn't he put his own life at risk for her? Had I not been certain that his love for her was real I wouldn't have permitted her to leave with him. Now he _left_ her? If he did, I'd _kill_ him!

I must've tensed because I heard Christine whimper, "Don't be angry with him, please, Erik. He didn't do it to hurt me."

I did my best to remain calm, more for Christine's sake than anything else. I sighed, "Can you explain what happened?"

"His brother Philippe died. And you know how quickly rumors spread! The rumor Raoul heard was that it was suicide, and that it was because Philippe would rather die than live with the scandal my marriage to Raoul would have been. It isn't hard to believe, Erik, because the man was so obsessed with the family name and reputation! Now Raoul won't even look at me!" Her sobs became more violent as she cried, "He blames me for everything!"

I was genuinely shocked by that wretched boy's stupidity! He deserved to die. Alas, Christine would only be upset by his death, so I would spare him. Pity, I would have so liked to do away with him. Even though Christine was with me now, I had acquired a taste for revenge. I shoved these thoughts away, turning my attention towards calming my angel. Easier said than done, I'm afraid. "It's alright, Christine. It's not you're fault. You and I both know Philippe's death had nothing to do with you," I soothed.

"But Raoul and his family think he died because of me!"

"Well, if they had an ounce of common sense, they'd see that you'd never hurt anyone!' I was beside myself with pity and rage. I turned my head to glance at Nadir, who had been standing there, watching the whole scene. I hissed, "If you're going to barge into my house uninvited, you may as well make yourself useful! Go boil water for tea; you know where everything is by now!" I was pleased to see that he complied without protesting. I once again began trying to assure Christine of her innocence. As I did, it occurred to me that I was being far more patient with her than anyone else would be. Especially the pretty-boy she'd left me for. What other man would allow his beloved to come crying to him about another man and be purely sympathetic? My own weakness astounded me. But, oh! I loved her so much! And I did so hate to see her unhappy! Besides, when she looked at me with those large, blue eyes I belonged completely to her.

She was still weeping when Nadir returned with the tea kettle, though she wasn't as hysterical as she'd been before. I was surprised that the Persian fool had had enough sense to actually make the tea before bringing the kettle here. I was further impressed when I realized he'd been sensible enough to make a soothing tea. Gently removing Christine from my shoulder and coaxing her to sit up, I poured her a cup of the chamomile tea. I murmured softly, "Drink this, it'll help." She sniffled and thanked both me and Nadir before sipping the scalding liquid.

Once she emptied her cup, she had calmed down considerably. She had stopped crying altogether and her breathing had almost returned to normal. She smiled softly and asked, "May I stay with you, Erik?"

I, of course, agreed without hesitation, though I very much doubted Christine staying here would end will for me. I had no doubt in my mind that she'd wish to leave eventually and letting her go a second time would be even more painful than the first. Even now, I barely understand what compelled me to twist the knife deeper into my already wounded heart, but I know it had to be because of love, that maliciously vile emotion which takes one's emotions and distorts them beyond all hope of recognition. It was due to that one damnable feeling that I'd been so close to suicide earlier; and it was because of love that I granted Christine's request without a thought as to now it would affect me.

My doubts, however proved to be unfounded when Christine smiled coyly and asked, "Would you give me another chance to turn the scorpion?" I found that I didn't entirely understand her request at first. Once I was able to comprehend the question her request implied, I hardly dared to believe I understood properly.

"You wish to marry me?" I asked incredulously. I must've looked like an idiot, standing there and gaping at her as she nodded. I heard Nadir snickering at me in the corner. I suppose he was getting his revenge for the times I'd put his neck on the line in Persia by jeering at me and annoying the Hell out of me whenever he got the chance. Instead, however, of being annoyed this time I smirked in his direction in a rather smug, triumphant manner before turning my attention to Christine and answered, "Of course, Angel."

It still felt odd to have Christine embrace me; I'd have to adjust to that. I returned her hug, trying my best not to seem as awkward as I felt. However, I noticed tears trickling down Christine's porcelain cheeks. "It's alright, Christine" I soothed. "Don't cry, I'm sure I can get the Vicomte back for you if that's what you wish. You needn't feel obligated to stay with me." I wanted to kill myself for offering, but, as I mentioned before, I was entirely helpless whenever I was near Christine.

She shook her head, a smile gracing her lips. "Happy tears," she explained. "I don't want Raoul. I want my Angel." I, at first, doubted her sincerity, but as my gaze met her soft, forget-me-not eyes all my doubts dissolved.


	2. Chapter 2

Life was perfect! My Angel had returned to me and she was nearly as angry with the boy as I was! To the wonderful little turn-coat standing in the corner I snickered, "Are you still so sure that letting her leave was the right thing to do?" I was quite satisfied by his embarrassment. I don't think I'll ever tire if taunting the old, disloyal fiend. Now, can someone remind me exactly _why _I hadn't killed him when I had the chance?

My attention returned to Christine. She was now sitting calmly on the bed. All traces of her tears had faded from her cheeks, which had been restored to their former astounding perfection. I still could barely comprehend that she was mine, despite the fact that I'd allowed her to go with the Vicomte. Disregarding that, I could _kill_ the boy for causing my Angel such distress! I _hated_ to see her cry, and the poor girl had been beside herself with despair when she'd come to me. He _deserved_ to be killed! And I was the only one capable of devising a means of death suitable for the crime he'd committed. Alas, I must wait. If he was murdered, I would be the first person Christine would suspect and, if she realized I'd done him in, she'd murder me.

But that didn't seem to matter anymore. Now all that really mattered to me was the Christine was here, with me, and she loved me. I swear, there was no happier man on the earth! I sat beside her, gently stroking her delicate, flaxen curls. I still couldn't understand how one so angelic as she could possibly choose a monster such as myself. She, who should obviously be worshipped as a Goddess, had chosen to wed a demon living in the bowels of the earth, as good as dead to the rest of the world. It was unfathomable! Oh! Christine! She could not possibly realize how incredibly, blissfully happy she'd made me!

She drew away from me slightly, turning to face me with a somewhat malicious grin playing about her rose-colored lips. Christine snickered wickedly, "Let's see if you're this ecstatic when we plan the details for the wedding!"

I froze. "Doesn't that involve dealing with other pe—"

She nodded, that evil grin still plastered upon her face. I groaned; an Angel indeed! God knows how many people I'd be forced to meet with before the ceremony was planned! I paled as her grin broadened. Oh, God! What _else_ could she possibly want? She allowed me a few moments with which to start panicking before giggling, "And, of course, you'll have to help send the invitations!"

"Do we—"

"Yes Erik. I want there to be some people at the wedding."

I continued to protest, "But who do _I_ know? I live in a cellar for Christ's sake!" I, personally, thought it was a valid, and persuasive, argument. Alas, my friend, once again, turned out to be a traitor.

Christine gestured in his direction and challenged, "You obviously know him!" She narrowed her eyes in a frightening fashion, one that bore an alarmingly close resemblance to the glare of a tigress. I didn't bother to argue with her anymore. At least I had my Angel. My charmingly demanding Angel. I began to wonder if she would have tortured Raoul like this, or if I was the only one who would have the distinct pleasure of experiencing her less innocent side. Still, I was in love, pathetically, hopelessly in love! I could deny her nothing!

I sighed with relief as she seemed to relax. The last thing I wanted was for her to be angry with me! My relief didn't last long. My heart began to sink as a saw an adorable, childish pout on her face, "Erik, Dear." That couldn't be good. "There's something I need to ask of you."

I asked nervously, "And that would be?"

She cuddled up close to me, wrapping her arms around my neck. I felt myself drop my guard, perhaps this request wouldn't be as bad as I imagined. Hah! She grabbed my mask and answered, "Stop wearing the mask, at least around me. _Please_?"

I dearly wished I'd strangled Nadir, or, better yet, left him in the torture chamber, when I heard him chuckling in the background. I listened with growing rage as his chuckles became hysterical laughter. Christine turned to glare at him and hissed, "I'm completely serious."

I flushed, feeling my already twisted face growing a deeper red with each passing second. Trying to fight off the humiliation of this whole affair I spat, "Get out, Daroga! Get out now or I'm quite sure you'll find your way into my torture chamber again!"

Through his raucous laughter he retorted, "I've found my way out before." I wondered if, perhaps, he'd be obliging enough to suffocate himself. At the thought, a morbid grin crept across my face, which had darkened in color to a deep crimson. It faded as suddenly as it came, leaving my, once again, in a foul temper.

I snarled, "I'm _more_ than capable of killing you Daroga! Now get _out_!" He finally relented and left, cackling in a frighteningly maniacal way as he did so. I made an attempt to explain the necessity of the mask to Christine, but it came out a jumbled bunch of nonsense. "Um, er, I… I really must insist on wearing the mask, Christine. I, well, er, you've seen what I look like. Surely you can understand the necessity of it…"

Oh! God! It was so difficult to argue with her when she pouted like that! With infuriating logic she reasoned, "Why should you need to hide from your own wife? Yes, I know what you look like. Remember, _I came back to you despite that knowledge_."

"Do you really—"

I didn't have time to finish my sentence. She grabbed the mask from the small nightstand she'd placed it on, keeping it well out of my reach. I didn't entirely understand what she was trying to do at first. She took advantage of my stupor and pulled me closer to her, gently pressing her lips against mine. When she pulled back she sighed, "I want to see my husband, regardless of what face God gave you."

In a delirious state of shock I nodded dumbly, not really knowing whether or not I could adjust to not wearing the mask. However, as usual, I wanted to please Christine, despite the fact that she was making many, many _requests_ and seemed entirely unwilling to budge on any of them. Well, at least she'd stopped making demands for now, that was something. I muttered, "Great… No mask…"

She must have sensed my agitation because she smiled sweetly and asked airily, "You didn't actually _like_ wearing that thing did you?" Beneath her veneer of innocence, I saw her narrow her eyes dangerously, daring me to try lying to her on the issue.

"No," I admitted wearily. "But I've worn one every day since I was born. It's a very, very old habit." I silently willed her to understand as I snatched at the mask. I was vaguely annoyed when she jerked it out of my reach, shaking her head. I lunged again, failing, once again, to grab it. I felt very much like a cat pouncing on a favorite toy, only to have it tugged away at the last moment. God! She was persistent in this demand! She got up and began to walk away with my mask and I, like a well trained puppy, followed close behind, hoping to get my mask back. I made a final attempt at retrieving it as she stopped in front of the lake. I let out a groan as I saw her throw it into the lake. I watched despairingly as it slowly sank below the surface, to be swallowed by the black waters.

"Demon," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that?" she asked innocently, though from the glare she shot at me I knew she heard exactly what I said.

"Nothing Angel," I lied. She seemed to be appeased, because she smiled, grabbed my hand and dragged back to her room. She was surprisingly strong. She pushed me lightly onto the bed and sat beside me, resting her head on my shoulder.

"Isn't that better? Now there's nothing between us."

I grumbled some incoherent comment, earning a thwack in the back of the head. My loving Christine… She sighed, "Erik, the mask _isn't_ necessary! I, personally, prefer you without it!" I felt myself go numb as she got up, sitting back down in my lap. She seemed oblivious to the angry glow in my eyes as she continued, "Looks mean absolutely nothing, Erik. I still love you."

She wasn't successful in her attempts to appease me. I growled, "People have been far less than accepting of my face. You saw Nadir's reaction to your request. And he's the closest thing to a friend I've had for decades!"

Christine challenged, "And what could people possibly do to make you incapable of going anywhere without the mask? Besides, I only asked you to stop wearing it around me."

I rolled my eyes and snapped, "What could they possibly do? Last time I was in public without my mask a group of people took it upon themselves to attack me. And do you think I don't care when I see mothers pulling their children closer as I pass? Do you honestly think I'm oblivious to all their vulgar, disgusted stares?" I was amazed when I saw her laughing at my out-burst.

"Erik, you're so ridiculous! Do you think I'd actually _let_ anyone harm you?" She shook her head and sighed, "You wonderfully sweet, silly man! Do you really think me to be that faithless?"

I held my tongue, wondering if she understood how completely unrealistic she was sounding. When the odds were five against two, and one of the two was my timid little Christine, things would, inevitably, turn out bad. And the last time I was attacked, the odds were even worse, if you can imagine.

She rolled her eyes impatiently and I relented, "Fine, fine, fine. I'll forget the mask, Christine." I wondered, now, exactly what I promised. Still, it satisfied Christine, and that was enough for me. She even smiled. Oh! How I adored it when she smiled! I felt as if my heart would melt! I was beginning to see traces of the sweet, gentle, innocent Christine I'd first fell in love with. Thank God for that!


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** Chapter three is finally up. It's a bit short, but at least it's a chapter. Please review. Please?

--

The following days seemed to blend together until it was nearly impossible to entirely understand what, exactly, was going on

The following days seemed to blend together until it was nearly impossible to entirely understand what, exactly, was going on. All I really knew was that I had spent several hours trying to convince Christine that it was _not_, in fact, bad luck for a groom to see his bride in her dress before the wedding and that it would be absolutely _fine_ if she were to use the dress I already had tucked away in a closet. And I still hadn't given up on it.

"Christine i— "

"Even if it _wouldn't_ but bad luck, it's _stained_, Erik!" She folded her arms, wearing a look of complete exasperation and then proceeded to point out a spot where the dress was less than the preferred pristine white.

"But I can _fix_ it Christine! You'd be surprised wha—"

"Erik, it's far from normal for a groom to make his bride's dress. Would it not be easier to just go to a seamstress?"

I stifled a groan. Yet again, she was thwarting my attempts at avoiding people. But, of course, she should have known better than to presume I cared for normalcy. We didn't _need_ a seamstress. Not when all the dress really needed was some extra fabric and embroidery to hide the offending stains. And I could easily find everything I need to _alter_ the dress _without_ leaving my home. As _abnormal_ as it may have been, I kept a nice box filled with needles, thread, and other such things in my house on the lake. It simply wouldn't do for me to go to the surface and endure other people every time I found a tear in one of my shirts, so I learned to deal with it myself.

I needled, "But, Christine, wouldn't it be so much nicer to wear a dress made by your caring, loving husband? After all, what other bride can boast that her fiancé took the time to _make_ her anything rather than paying someone else to do it?" She seemed to think about it. Maybe…? She cocked an eyebrow, suddenly skeptical. Damn. I continued, "It was made with all the love and affection of your sweet, adoring Erik. Doesn't that make it better than any dress a _seamstress_ could make for you?" She looked back at the dress, considering. Myself? I was watching her, silently praying for her to finally drop the issue of the dress.

"Alright, Erik," she sighed at last. For once, it seemed, I had convinced Christine to give in. Perhaps it was a sign that things would begin to change? For some reason, I doubted it. Not wanting to push my luck, I resolved to change the subject.

"Why don't we sing Christine? It's been much too long since we've sang together." Without waiting for an answer, I sat before the organ, glancing over at her expectantly. She let out a frustrated sigh and uttered some feeble protest, but eventually followed me. Since I had begun giving her lessons, we had fallen into a rather predictable pattern and, as such, she was able to begin warm-ups without much instruction. One could say it was because I was boring and was too set in my ways. I, personally, chose to look at it as a way of expressing just how well Christine and I understood each other. But, that quickly fell apart by the time we got to scales.

"Give it energy, Christine." I had her sing the same scale again. It was an improvement, but it still wasn't perfect. "It needs support. As you release air, you should feel your back muscles." Whether she was getting bored or tired was unclear, but I assumed it was the latter. I had already taken her to the highest extremities of her range, which invariably required the most energy, and it was natural for a singer to tend to fall flat on the way down. Regardless, the third time was a large improvement.

But, as I played the next chord, she began to protest once again, "Erik, shouldn't we be thinking about more important things? We'll have all the time in the world to sing, _after_ _the wedding_."

Vaguely irritated, I persisted, "But we haven't even gotten past warming up yet!" She scowled, but she didn't look terribly upset. She knew full well that she could simply walk away and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I could rage, plead, threaten, and offer bribes, but I couldn't force the sound out of her and I certainly couldn't force her to put in the effort to sing properly.

So, rather than singing another scale, she directed my attention back to the lovely ceremony I had come to dread. She said, "Now, perhaps we can accomplish something." Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if daring me to disagree, as she began, "First, I must _insist_ that you meet my adoptive mother—I'm sure you can understand how important she is to me."

I stifled a groan. She could have asked for anything. I would have given her the money to hire an entire circus if she asked for it. But I was much less than eager to actually meet someone. Especially since I sensed Christine would not hesitate to call off the entire thing if her surrogate mother did not approve of it. And, to be quite frank, to so much as _consider_ giving us her blessing, the woman would have to be either insane or blind. Or perhaps both.

However, Christine seemed to ignore my obvious displeasure, "And, since we are going to be married, I believe it would be appropriate for you to tell me your last name."

Damn. I searched frantically for an answer. In truth, I hadn't been permitted to spend enough time with my mother for her to disclose such information. I believe the longest conversations we had ever had were the ones in which she threatened to beat me if I ever dared to approach her without my mask. At length, I determined the best solution was to give one of the infuriatingly vague answers I usually reserved for Nadir. "I believe it would be best to answer that at a later date."

Well, at least I had accomplished my goal. It was certainly vague and, judging by the look on my Angel's face, it was most definitely quite infuriating. Well, that was one unpleasant discussion avoided. Only about five hundred more to go.


End file.
